


Juniper and Heliotrope (And A Little Fleur-de-Lis)

by veronamay



Series: The Tale Of The Rake And The Footman [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Class Issues, Established Relationship, M/M, Timestamp, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-05
Updated: 2008-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What could possibly happen at a masquerade ball? Set five years later. The boys return to London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Juniper and Heliotrope (And A Little Fleur-de-Lis)

**LONDON  
July, 1860**

"Good God, what a crush! One can barely move in here."

Jensen appeared out of nowhere as the latest dance concluded and fell against Jared, producing a square of embroidered linen from his pocket. He patted it over his lightly sweating face, avoiding his mask, and then used it to fan himself.

"There must be two hundred people here at least." He leaned into Jared's side and drooped prettily on his shoulder, careful not to crush the wallflower in his button-hole. "Lend me your arm for a moment, pet. I feel quite faint."

Jared's own lapel sported a dahlia; he had bid Jensen secure it in place while they were dressing, and the look in Jensen's eyes had left him quite breathless. Now Jared stifled a grin, contenting himself with a raised eyebrow at his lover's theatrics. It never ceased to surprise him how easily Jensen switched personas whenever they were in Polite Society. Not two months ago, he'd watched Jensen plunge an arm shoulder-deep into the innards of a birthing cow, cursing fit to turn the air blue, and now he was affecting to swoon from a little overcrowding. Jared wondered if anyone of their acquaintance was aware of just how mercurial Jensen's moods could be.

He slipped an arm around Jensen's waist by way of pretending support, and looked about the room for something to distract him from the way Jensen's erection was pressing into his hip. The bastard had been playing merry hell with Jared all evening, casting come-hither looks and suggestive remarks in his direction since they entered the ballroom. Jared was coming to the end of his considerable self-control, but it would not do for him to throw Jensen up against the nearest wall and ravage him. (Much as the idea appealed, he feared it would ruin the wallpaper, the silk hangings, and possibly the wall itself as well.) A little forbearance was in order--at least for now.

The Royal Opera House's "Crush Room" was living up to its name tonight. The Season itself was over, but it seemed plenty of folk were keen to savour the last shreds of gaiety before undertaking the annual migration to the country. Thus, a masquerade ball had been arranged, and just about everyone still in Town had turned out to take advantage. Jared allowed as how he couldn't blame them; the summer had been glorious, and he was of a mind to do some savouring of his own (if of a somewhat different bent than dancing). The ballroom, decked out in shades of red and cream and lit with wall-sconces and a dozen chandeliers, was packed to the rafters with Quality, all vying for pre-eminence in the eyes of the _ton_. Brightly coloured gowns and jewellery, exquisitely tailored evening-wear, and a plethora of lavishly decorated masks provided plenty of entertainment for spectators. The added spice of a masquerade loosened the usually rigid standards of behaviour: gentlemen danced with ladies to whom they had not been introduced; ladies flirted outrageously in return, fans fluttering with such force Jared could feel a half-dozen separate breezes from where he stood. Red velvet chairs lined the walls in two orderly rows, where overheated matrons and harried chaperones rested aching feet and prayed for a kind soul (or observant servant) to offer a glass of wine. An eight-piece arrangement provided music from an adjoining room, waltzes and quadrilles and the occasional country piece following one after the other from a seemingly inexhaustible repertoire.

Jensen had talked him into attending tonight. Jared would have been just as happy to stay at their hotel, but Jensen was determined to enjoy a final fling in Society before they returned to America and Jared had been unable to deny him. It was possible Jensen had influenced Jared's capitulation unfairly, given the particular activity he was engaged in (an enthusiastic indulgence in _fellatio_ ) and what he was wearing (a black beaded half-mask, its eye-holes cut so as to highlight Jensen's alluring green gaze as he slowly slid his mouth along Jared's aching length) at the time the discussion took place. Jared concluded that he could not hold such unfair tactics against his lover; it was after all no real hardship to stand alongside the dance floor and watch Jensen gracefully gliding through a waltz or two. Jared did not dance himself; he was too tall for most ladies to find the exercise comfortable and besides, he had not the training and deportment required to ask a lady to stand up with him without risking a misstep. He found it a pretty thing to watch nonetheless--doubly so, when Jensen was one of the dancers.

Then, too, there was the fact that no lady of good repute would be seen engaging Jared in even the most desultory conversation, let alone accepting his hand for a turn on the floor. One did not admit the existence of a man known for "unnatural offences"; acknowledging an introduction would be quite beyond the pale.

Other men might find this constraint painful and offensive--Jensen certainly did, on Jared's behalf--but Jared quite simply did not give a damn what Society thought of him. He was here because Jensen wished it, and that was all. He would not pretend shame, nor would he apologise, but neither was he inclined to be combative. He was perfectly willing to speak to those who chose to acknowledge him (of which there were few), for he was by nature an amiable man. However, he was also perfectly content to be ignored by all and sundry, for this gave him ample opportunity to gaze at Jensen's lithe figure as he moved about the room, and plan in detail the ravishment he intended to inflict upon him the moment their bedroom door was locked behind them. London was Jensen's milieu, not Jared's. He was not uncomfortable here, but he would not be sorry to leave.

That Jensen was able to hold London in any affection at all, given how abominably Society had treated him after the _contretemps_ with Rosenbaum five years before Jared would never understand, but Jensen was possessed of a patient and forgiving nature, and London had once been his home. Jared could not fault him for wanting to repair his relations here, and he had privately vowed to aid Jensen's attempts as best he could. They had been successful to some degree; Jensen was still admitted to such public gatherings as these, though he bore no little disapproval from the _ton_ due to his choice of companion. It did not appear to bother him unduly, although Jared was mindful to stay close by and shower him with more overt affection than was his usual wont, just in case. Jensen was certainly appreciative of these efforts, and so all parties of import (to wit, himself and Jensen) were well pleased.

They were only in Britain at all due to having recently completed a purchase of an Angus bull and some ten cows from a Scottish breeder. Jared had been investigating the benefits of crossbreeding to improve the Ackles stock, and Hereford-Angus crossbreeds would appear to be a marketable choice. Thus, he wrote to a certain Mr Watson of Aberdeenshire, who wrote back with dispatch, and two months later they boarded a ship for Scotland. The purchase itself was concluded most satisfactorily, and Jared held high hopes for the potential increase in profitability the Ackles brand would receive several years hence.

It made sense for them to make an appearance in London after their business was done, as it was the height of the Season, and a stay of some five weeks' duration had delayed their return home. Jensen had delighted in the opportunity to renew old acquaintances and make new ones (although any mention of Rosenbaum and his cronies was carefully omitted from general conversation, as that wound had yet to heal). Jared thought, at this rate, it would not be surprising to discover that their purchases arrived in Texas before they did. He was trying not to chafe at their extended stay in London, although he believed Jensen was sensible of his growing restlessness in that regard.

Jared's reverie was interrupted by Jensen nudging momentarily closer to him, making room for a young lady in a bejeweled harlequin mask and her chaperone to squeeze by. Jensen flashed a charming smile at the pair; the girl began to return it, then caught a stern glance from her companion and flushed, casting her eyes to the floor as they passed. The chaperone aimed a narrow gaze at Jensen and Jared, noting their close stance, and gave a haughty sniff in their direction before urging her charge on through the crowd.

Jared felt Jensen tense against him, then deliberately relax again. He pulled Jensen tighter against him and whispered into his ear, "Envy is so unattractive, don't you think?"

"Ah, but of which of us is she envious?" Jensen returned, sliding him a wicked glance from behind his mask. "You, because you managed to snare the most eligible bachelor in Town without even trying, and then had the terribly bad form to hang onto him? Or me, because I am fortunate enough to have you in my bed every night and not give a damn what anyone thinks?"

"Both, from the look of her," said Jared with a tiny grin and a discreet flick of his fingers.

Jensen followed the movement with a curious glance; the lady in question was staring openly at them from across the room, her gaudy multicoloured disguise doing nothing to conceal her interest. Jensen's shoulders shook minutely as he stifled his laughter, twisting around to stand in front of Jared and shield them from her view.

"She may envy us all she likes," he said, running a finger over the bottom edge of Jared's lilac-and-silver mask, edging onto his cheek. "That is all she can do, for I am not inclined to share."

"Very uncharitable of you," Jared murmured, easing one knee between Jensen's legs and pressing ever so slightly _up_.

"Isn't it, though?" Jensen smiled, eyes glinting, and hooked a finger into Jared's elaborately knotted cravat. "Now, my love, are you finished driving me to distraction--don't think I haven't noticed you staring at me every time I looked up, you shameless flirt--or should you like to bait me some more?"

"I think," Jared said thoughtfully, "I should like to investigate the cloak-room." He eased out of Jensen's hold and walked a few steps in that direction, turning to shoot him a provocative look over his shoulder. "Would you care to accompany me?"

It really was very gratifying to see the way Jensen sprang to attention (so to speak) and followed him like iron to a lodestone when Jared began to thread his way through the crush. Very gratifying indeed. Jared struggled to present a benign demeanour as he excused himself left and right, easing past misses and mesdames, their husbands and brothers stepping back of their own accord so as not to come into contact with him. Jared barely noticed; he was intent on reaching the seclusion of the cloak-room before he lost all decorum and attacked Jensen in the midst of the dance floor. He could feel Jensen's gaze on him like a physical thing, a hot pressure adding to the slow build of lust he had been suffering all evening. He _must_ get them both to some sort of privacy lest they shock the entire _ton_ with their enthusiasm.

"Well, well. What's this? Jenny's bum-boy's in a hurry, is he?"

A glove-clad hand shot out in front of Jared, barring his way. The champagne glass in the grip of the hand sloshed unsteadily, golden drops of sparkling liquid flying every which way. Jared looked up the length of the arm to the body attached to it, meeting Rosenbaum's smirking face with a calm he did not feel.

"Good evening, Mr Rosenbaum," he said blandly, stepping away from the other's touch. "Forgive my haste; I did not see you."

Jensen pulled up short behind him, his shoulder brushing Jared's own. Jared chanced a look at him; Jensen was all tension, his hard expression behind the mask daring Rosenbaum to provoke a scene. Jared was grateful Jensen hadn't heard Rosenbaum's opening sally. He had no wish for the night's festivities to end in a duel.

"Is there a problem?" Jensen asked abruptly. Rosenbaum chuckled and waved one slim hand, his red cat's-face mask giving him an air of sly smugness Jared felt was entirely unnecessary.

"Of course not, Jenny--er, Sir Jensen. I was just saying hello to your _man_ here."

Jensen bristled visibly at Rosenbaum's subtle dig, but Jared pushed his shoulder back in a not-so-gentle nudge. Actual politeness was too much to expect from Rosenbaum; Jared was willing to let the slur pass in favour of getting Jensen away from the man without bloodshed.

"Yes," he agreed, when Jensen shot him a querying look. "But you must excuse us, sir--we are just leaving. I hope your evening continues well."

He bent into a cursory bow as courtesy dictated and took a firm hold of Jensen's arm, beginning to tow him along behind as he turned back to the crush. For a moment he thought they had escaped, and allowed himself a sigh of relief. Then he heard, through a break in the music,

"Not as well as yours, I'll wager, Jenny. By God, that boy's got a fine arse! Do you plow it every night, to keep it looking so pert?"

Even as Jared turned, clenching his jaw against a wave of fury, he wondered what sort of devil drove Rosenbaum. Jensen had already shaken off his grip and was storming back to where Rosenbaum stood smirking, surrounded by hangers-on. Jared reached out a hand to stop him, but Jensen's superfine swallow-tailed coat slipped through his fingers. By the time he recovered from the resulting misstep, Jensen was looming over the recumbent Rosenbaum, having just delivered him a resounding left hook that cracked his mask in two and dropped him like a stone.

Jared's gasp was lost amidst the general clamour of shock at such ungentlemanly behaviour; Jensen looked not at all abashed, but stood glaring down at Rosenbaum as if daring him to get up again, so they could repeat the whole exercise for the benefit of anyone who missed it. (Jared possibly would not have argued this; he had not witnessed the blow itself, being that he was occupied with trying not to trip over at the moment of impact. However, he did not think it politic to mention it at this juncture. It would likely not go over well in court.)

"I'm sorry, Rosenbaum, I didn't quite catch that. Would you care to repeat it?"

Jensen sounded for all the world like he was in a drawing-room, but his eyes were dark and his face was a rictus of rage. The last time Jared saw him look like this, he'd shot one of his employees who'd beaten his wife and daughter nearly to death. He'd cried afterward, quiet and miserable, for the loss of life and the way the man's widow had looked at him as if he'd struck her down as well.

Jared didn't want to ever witness that again. He didn't want Jensen feeling guilt and pain over Rosenbaum. The bastard wasn't worth it.

He came to stand at Jensen's left shoulder just as Rosenbaum opened his mouth to reply.

"Shut it," Jared ground out. "Or I'll do it for you. I'm not as polite as him."

"For God's sake, Rosenbaum," someone muttered; Welling, Jared deduced, though he did not turn to look.

Rosenbaum's mouth snapped closed with an audible click.

"Good." Jared nodded, letting his voice ease into its natural drawl. "You know, my mama always used to say that if you couldn't think of anything nice to say about a person, you shouldn't say nothin' at all. Now, I wouldn't wanna imply that I'm tryin' to advise my _betters_ , here--" he paused to let that particular barb sink in, "but you might wanna take that little piece of wisdom to heart. Before that mouth of yours gets you into deeper trouble than a love-tap to the face."

Rosenbaum looked down at his once-pristine shirtfront, now stained bright red with the blood gushing from his broken nose, then slowly brought his gaze back up to Jared's. The hate Jared saw there surprised him--what had he ever done to the man?--but there was not time to consider it just then. Jensen was still vibrating with the need to hit something, and Jared thought it best to remove him from the scene before they caused any more of a scandal.

"All right then. If you all will excuse us," he said to the room at large, taking hold of Jensen's shoulders and urging him toward the huge double doors at the end of the ballroom, "I believe we'll say good night."

He hustled a silently fuming Jensen out of the room, retrieving their coats and hats with a wistful look at the cloak-room's dim confines. There was a delay of several minutes while this occurred, during which Jensen neither looked at nor spoke to him, but kept his gaze trained on the floor. Jared wasn't sure what this behaviour portended, but he was positive that whatever was going to happen should not happen in public. He slipped a half-crown to one of the staff to flag down a hackney, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the door of the cab closed behind them.

Jensen slumped into the corner of the seat opposite Jared, pulling his mask off and turning it over in his hands. Jared followed suit and laid his mask aside, waiting for Jensen to speak. The silence stretched into minutes as the cab lurched over uneven cobbles, the horses' hooves ringing out sharply against the stones. As the moments bled one into the next, Jared began to wonder if Jensen was not, in fact, fuming over Rosenbaum, but over Jared's own behaviour in response.

 _What would he have me do?_ he thought. _I am not a woman, that I need to stand by and wait for someone else to defend me. I am perfectly capable of dealing with irritants like Rosenbaum on my own._

Perhaps Jensen, in his city persona, did not appreciate Jared's self-sufficiency in this respect. This was Jensen's world more than Jared's; it was possible Jensen expected to take the lead in such situations as this and was annoyed that Jared had not let him. If that were so, Jared was not at all certain he could accommodate him; he had been looking after himself for a very long time, and despite their mutual and heartfelt understanding, ceding control to another did not come easily (at least, not outside the bedroom, where he had to admit Jensen excelled most admirably). The thought that Jensen might be angry with him for exercising such a basic right as self-defence made Jared's stomach twist unpleasantly. After all this time, did Jensen truly view him in such a weak and unflattering manner?

All this passed through Jared's mind in a whirl; he was meanwhile keeping a wary eye on Jensen's averted features lest an eruption from that quarter took him unawares. Jensen did not even glance in his direction, however, and it was some time before Jared realised they had been jolting along for much longer than it should reasonably require to reach their hotel. The cab was moving at a snail's pace, and now that he was sensible of it Jared could hear the sounds of a commotion outside.

He banged a fist against the roof of the cab. Jensen startled, shooting him a look that Jared caught the very edge of before Jensen looked away again. Just that brief second was enough for Jared to throw all his previous musings aside. Jensen was not angry with him. Jensen was, if Jared were reading him aright, the very _opposite_ of angry with him.

His hand fell back to his side, the external disturbance forgotten. He began to entertain certain thoughts and images from earlier in the evening (involving walls, and beds, and bodies devoid of clothing being thrust hard up against same). He did not notice when the cab came to a complete stop; he was entirely focused on Jensen and the mere two feet of space that separated them.

"Jensen--" he began, his voice hoarse. Jensen jerked in his seat and threw up a hand in protest.

"Not here." Another lightning-fast glance from eyes that were almost entirely black with want. "Not unless you want to be _arrested_ , Jared--"

Jared inhaled sharply, his entire body stiffening as he took Jensen's meaning. Then he nodded once and subsided into his seat, staring blindly at the wall next to Jensen's head. Waiting. They were waiting until--

They were on their way back to the hotel before--

They _had_ to wait, because Jensen looked--

The door opened quite suddenly, noise from the street flooding in and dispelling the built-up tension between them. The driver peered in, an apologetic expression on his ruddy weathered face.

"There's an accident up ahead," he informed them glumly. "Team of six all tangled up, coach cracked half to bits. Nobody's been kilt, but the whole road's blocked off. We'll need to go around, but we're stuck 'ere until them what's behind us clears away or them's as in front can move on."

"How--" Jensen cleared his throat. "How much farther is it?"

"Not more'n ten minutes' walk," the cabbie told them. "'Twas Claridge's you wanted, aye? We're on Grosvenor Street now--it's just a short stroll along the street there, sirs, past the mews t' Brook Street."

"We'll walk, then." Jensen tossed his mask aside and handed the man his fare, and added what looked like a sovereign to it. "Thank you for your trouble."

"No trouble a'tall, sirs, no indeed!"

The cabbie backed away from the door in a flurry of grateful stammering; his business would not suffer for their stranding him here. Jared nodded in farewell and fell into step beside Jensen, who had retreated into silence again. Jared pulled out his fob-watch and tilted it to catch the street-light; it was nearing two o'clock. They had been over half an hour in the hackney.

Jared was careful to keep a few feet of space between them as they walked. The explosive nature of their earlier tension was gone, but Jensen was still either unwilling or unable to look at him and Jared chose not to push. It was difficult enough to keep his own body under control, let alone consider teasing Jensen on the open street. They strode along together easily, making short work of the distance to the hotel. Jared soon set his mind to planning what he would do once they were behind closed doors (and once Jensen had visited upon him whatever schemes he had been entertaining, which Jared was greatly anticipating). They were due to set out for Liverpool the following afternoon, but Jared was willing to bet a substantial sum they would be late. Very late. Five years with Jensen had made him an authority in such matters. He was always careful to include thanks for such in his prayers.

They were nearly past the stone walls of the mews, with its pungent scents of manure and hay and the soft whickering of stabled horses when, in the darkened entry-way, a darker shadow moved. Jared barely had time to register the movement before they were being surrounded by a group of men, cloaked and hooded, the ringleader pointing the business end of a pistol squarely at him.

They were dragged unceremoniously into the entry-way, where Jared glimpsed a broken gas-light overhead. There, the circle of men around them tightened until there was no mistaking who their captor was. Jared cursed the accident on the road behind them; but for that they would be in their rooms already, and safe from this idiocy.

"Rosenbaum, have you gone mad?" Jared asked. "What the _hell_ do you hope to gain from this?"

Rosenbaum stepped forward and lowered his hood, that insufferable smirk stretched wide across his face. The smell of strong claret wafted about him.

"You," he slurred, waving the pistol carelessly in Jared's face, "shut up. Nobody here cares a brass farthing for you, boy, unless it's to tup your pretty arse. Though a farthing's more than it's worth, if you ask me--"

He was interrupted midsentence, due to his breath being cut off by the wall at his back and Jensen's arm across his throat.

"You should stop talking now," Jensen said evenly. "I would in other circumstances give you my challenge; however, your behaviour tonight has thoroughly convinced me you are not deserving of the honour. Therefore, I will say this: keep your mouth shut, or I will break it." He wrested the flintlock from Rosenbaum's slack grip and tapped his face with it. "I have held back thus far out of respect for our former friendship. I will not do so again."

"Jensen. Jensen, please." Rosenbaum scrabbled at the front of Jensen's coat, clutching desperate handfuls of cloth in an attempt to hold him close. "You don't need him. I can--I _would_ \--don't you see? He's not good enough, he's nothing, he's _filth_ \--"

Jensen stepped back and his arm swung out in one smooth movement, the pistol clipping Rosenbaum soundly across the jaw. Jared heard the distinct sound of teeth shattering. Rosenbaum's eyes went dull; he slumped and then slid down the wall, unconscious, fresh blood from his mangled lips staining his shirtfront afresh.

Jensen turned around to confront the rest of their attackers, pistol held negligently in one hand.

"Do any of you care to carry on in his stead?" he asked.

The four men backed away as one.

"Excellent decision, gentlemen." Jensen tucked the pistol into his coat pocket and gestured to the street. "You may go. I trust one of you will arrange for your friend here to be collected; I suggest you contact Welling for that. Unless you wish to take him with you now? --No, I thought not." His smile was cold and without mirth. "Don't worry, we shan't rob him. I shall send someone round from our hotel to watch him. Go on--leave."

Jared followed them back to the street and watched as they reached the corner and scattered. Jensen joined him after a moment; looking back, Jared saw that he'd arranged Rosenbaum's unconscious form more comfortably in the corner, so as to be almost invisible from the street. The small kindness made Jared's heart turn over, and he wondered again at Rosenbaum's stupidity. How could anyone want to provoke Jensen in such a manner? It made no sense to him at all. Jensen was clearly angry, but he was just as clearly hurt by Rosenbaum's actions. The man was a fool.

Rosenbaum left his thoughts entirely when Jensen turned to him with hot dark eyes and spoke a single word.

"Hurry."

Jared hurried.

They all but ran to the corner of Brook Street, the welcoming façade of Claridge's promising safety, comfort and above all, the privacy of a locked door. Jared was fairly certain he would expire altogether if he could not disrobe within the next ten minutes; his erection was chafing most unpleasantly, and he ached for the touch of Jensen's hand.

The footman nearly fell over himself in his haste to get the door open for them; for once Jared barely noticed, too intent on gaining their rooms before he disgraced himself in public. He raced up the grand staircase two steps at a time, Jensen right beside him, and had the door-key ready well before they reached the second floor.

Jensen's hand was heavy on his back as they fell through the door. Jared stumbled, found himself turned about and hauled up hard against Jensen's body before the lock clicked shut. Jensen shoved him back a step or two, introducing him rather abruptly to the exquisitely covered wall, and attached his mouth to Jared's neck with such ferocity Jared half-feared the marks would scar.

"I wanted to _kill_ him," he breathed into Jared's ear, licking around and briefly inside. "Wanted to wipe the filthy smirk off his face."

"I think you did that rather well, love," Jared managed, tilting his head sideways to allow more access. Jensen bit him ungently at the juncture of neck and shoulder and pulled back to stare into his eyes.

"He touched you. He insulted you--repeatedly!--in public. I should have shot him where he stood."

"If you had, you would now be in prison and I would be destitute," Jared said. He took Jensen's face in his hands. "You know how things are, Jen. We are lucky not to be imprisoned as it is."

"I don't _care_ ," Jensen shot back. "I want the right to beat the living hell out of anyone who so much as sneers at you."

"And I love you for it." Jared smoothed his thumbs over Jensen's cheekbones, kissing the smooth place between his brows. "It doesn't matter to me what they say or what they think, Jensen. Only you."

Jensen gazed at him for a long moment, his laboured breaths slowing into a rhythm resembling calm. He grinned half in admiration, half in irritation, threading a hand through Jared's hair and yanking lightly.

"You are so bloody _saintly_ ," he murmured. "It's really very annoying when one is trying to be bloodthirsty."

"So sorry to disrupt your plans," Jared said with a grin.

"So you should be." Jensen bit him again on the point of his chin, sharp white teeth rasping against delicate stubble.

"And as for my alleged sainthood--" Jared slid easily to his knees, smoothing his hands up Jensen's thighs and attacking the fastenings of his trousers. "I believe you may be somewhat mistaken."

"Oh, really?" Jensen adjusted his hold, cupping and stroking the back of Jared's neck. "Do--God!--feel free to enlighten me."

Jared chose not to reply with words. Instead, he eased Jensen's fine evening-dress away from his body and applied himself diligently to those parts of his lover which seemed to be reaching for him. Having some five years' experience in such matters, it was not long before Jensen was gasping and cursing above him, his careful hold forgotten as he gripped Jared's head in both hands and urged him forward again and again. Jared let himself be moved, thrust into, Jensen's excitement contributing to his own until it reached a fever-pitch. He could not undo his own fastenings one-handed; his other hand was buried between Jensen's thighs, pressing hard behind his balls, and he could not spare it. Jared gritted his teeth against the confinement of his trousers and carried on. Jensen was nearly at the brink; a few moments more would suffice. He could wait that long. He _would_.

Jensen let out a low groan and began to thrust wildly into his mouth, losing his rhythm and plunging deep without restraint. Jared slid his hand forward to collect some of the accumulated wetness from Jensen's cock, and used it to slick the way as he breached Jensen's body. He felt Jensen stiffen in his mouth and pulled back, swallowing hard, milking every last pulse to the dregs. Jensen collapsed atop him without warning, fumbling around until he found Jared's face and kissing him as though he never intended to stop. Having no issue with this, Jared submitted, distracted only by the growing urgency of his need to disrobe.

"I love you," Jensen was repeating into his mouth, punctuating each word with a kiss. "I love you, I love you, I love you--"

"That's wonderful," Jared cut in, freeing his erection with a heartfelt sigh and beginning to stroke. "I love you, too. But I would really like to come now, if you have no objection."

He felt Jensen's hand move down to displace his own, setting a hard-and-fast pattern that was as familiar as his own heartbeat.

"Oh, no objection at all." Jensen trailed his mouth along Jared's jaw and then began to undo his cravat with his teeth. "It's good of you to wait so long."

"Think nothing of it," Jared gasped, and arched into his hand. He felt Jensen grin against his neck, and his toes curled with the force of his feelings--the physical, yes, for his climax was breathtaking--but it was so much more than that. So much more than he had ever expected.

Jared took a deep breath, inhaling the lush scent of the gardenias Jensen had ordered to be spread about the suite. (Jensen insisted on wooing him with flowers still; Jared considered himself well and truly caught, but he was far from indifferent to these attentions.) He knew why Jensen was so aggressive about protecting him. That which they had between them was no less a marriage despite their inability to proclaim it. If Jensen wished to defend him against the slurs of others, Jared could not--would not--try to gainsay him.

He subsided eventually, thankful the carpeting was comfortable. Jensen remained sprawled across his chest, lazily cleaning the residue of Jared's eruption from his fingers with his mobile tongue. As always, the sight inspired Jared to further acts of love, and he slid his own hand across and down until he encountered the renewed heat of Jensen's cock rising to the occasion.

"Shall we continue this in a more accommodating venue?" he asked. "This suite is rather hideously expensive and this is our last opportunity to get our money's worth of all of it."

"You make an excellent point," Jensen said, leaning in for a kiss and sucking briefly on his lower lip.

"So do you," Jared replied, squeezing the point in question. Jensen was startled into laughter by the quip, and he grinned. "Come on, you oaf. Get off me. I've a fancy to go a-riding."

Jensen grinned. "I'll fetch my crop."

END


End file.
